Jigsaw (NaNoWriMo13)

Thirty Five

So this is quite short. But I found this to be the perfect place to leave it off! Please Vote/follow/comment if you liked! Feedback is helpful! 

I don't know if it's just me. But I think I see something akin to blame on the young nurses face as she comes to change the dressings around Evans chest. When the nurse had removed Evan's shirt - without even a thought of Evan's privacy or a glance in my direction - I had almost fainted. A huge white bandage spread across his chest, stained red by copious amounts of dried blood.

Evan had almost laughed when he saw my rapidly paling face. While the nurse looked at me in concern - as if I was the one who needed medical treatment and not Evan – but her gentle reassurances told me that it was just a surface wound and Evan was going to make a full recovery.

I hadn't realised, in my panic and tiredness yesterday, just how bad Evan's injuries were. But in the cold, morning light, they are all highlighted horrifically. His face, which last night had looked swollen, now looks positively stretched to breaking point. The skin is stretched and shiny, broken up by mottled purple bruises that look almost as painful as they doubtfully are. His lips, though returning to normal size are split and prone to bleeding. The full weight of what has happened is slowly sinking in, spreading through my body like an ice cold poison.

“Those fucking bastards!” I shout, slamming my fist into Evan's bed.

He winces as the movement jars his broken ribs. Guiltily, I swallow my anger and clench my fists in my lap. He looks at me, not saying a word for a very long time. My heart is thumping heavily in my chest, lungs constricting violently as the silence stretches on for an eternity. Or that's what it seems at least. But now, with the peculiar expression painted onto Evans battered face, I am slowly coming to realise that patching things up with Evan isn't going to be as easy as I first thought.

“Evan. . .” I begin, bringing my hands up uncertainly and resting them atop his blankets.

I shift uncomfortably on the seat beside his bed, feeling the cold plastic moulding to my bum, listening to the obnoxious squeak it makes every time it changes position. I try to focus on these irrelevant details instead of Evan's eyes. Which are focused on me with a mixture of sadness and betrayal.

“Just say what you need to say,” he says, wincing as the words jar his poor lips.

“Right. . . I- well...” I bite my lip and duck my head, looking up at Evan through my fringe. He gives the slightest shadow of a nod. A non-verbal prompt to continue.

This seems to boost my confidence rather than bolster it. So slowly, with impatient encouragement from Evan, I begin to speak.

“I'm not going to pretend I regret anything I did. Because as fucked up as this sounds; I don't regret it. I don't regret protecting you. Even though in the end it didn't work. Call me a fucking bitch, or whatever you want. But I won't take it back. When-” my voice fails and Evans hand twitches on top of the scratchy blue hospital blankets. “But when I found out you were hurt, what those pricks had done to you – I realised I'd made a mistake. I – I . . . Look it's like this..”

“Stop.”

My eyes meet Evan and I frown at him in confusion. “Just stop.”

His voice is dry and hoarse. Lacking in any warmth or emotion.

“Wh-what?”

My bottom lip trembles and Evan sighs, reaching out a finger and tracing it over the curve of my lip.

I've missed this. I've missed this so fucking much. Not just his touch. But his presence. The way even being in the same room as him seems to distract me from my troubles. How – and as stupid as this sounds – when we're together. I almost feel normal. Like my parent's didn't kill themselves and like I don't have a  stalker after me. Because as much as I hate to admit it. I need Evan. Like a fish needs water and like my lungs need oxygen. He is my life source and the longer I am away from him, the more I feel it dwindling away into absolute nothingness. But sitting here now, with that look on his face I am hit with a severe reality check. I could lose him. He no longer looks at me with warmth and adoration. His eyes no longer and sparkle. And the hand that had just been cupping my cheek now sits clenched in his lap.